


Metaphorical Gin and Juice

by earthseraph



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual!Bucky, Collars, Dom!Steve, Dom/sub, Feeding, Fluff, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Praise, Sex Positive Asexual!Bucky, Sub!Bucky, gentle dom!Steve, petting, this is all fluff and a sprinkle of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5442047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/earthseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking a deep breath, he grabs the collar and leaves the closet, flicking the light off as he goes. His bare feet are sticking to the hardwood floors, the collar is jingling, the silky pants are brushing against his legs, and he feels so at peace he might be a quarter of the way to subspace. </p><p>Steve looks up at him when he walks into the living room, glasses still on his nose, mission report in his lap, his feet are firm on the floor, knees spread wide enough for Bucky to fit in between.</p><p>He nods to the collar Bucky has gripped in his hands, “Want me to put on your collar?” Steve asks, his voice strong but gentle. </p><p>Bucky nods, stopping in front of Steve, between his open legs, “Please, Sir.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Metaphorical Gin and Juice

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my awesome friend [Lore](http://nbvengers.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Okay so, Bucky's a sex positive asexual, and I am a sex positive asexual so I know what I'm writing about. Here, though, are some links in cause you wanna read about it or are confused:  
> [Link 1](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/post/134824855025/ok-im-new-with-all-these-names-for-genders-and), [Link 2](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/post/135289606420/what-is-a-sex-positive-ace-ive-been-wondering), [Link 3](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/post/135292634605/hey-im-real-sorry-about-this-its-probably-super), and [Link 4](http://hunterinabrowncoat.tumblr.com/post/101210488243/in-aid-of-asexual-awareness-week-ive-decided-to). If you have any questions please don't hesitate to [message me](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/faq).
> 
> The title is from [Hands To Myself by Selena Gomez](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JYuDvJ0ixkI).
> 
> All mistakes are my own, please enjoy!

Bucky’s been restless all day. He woke up this morning from a silent nightmare and couldn’t fall back to sleep. Instead of taking the time to make himself and Steve a nice breakfast, he settled for a cup of coffee and toast. He didn’t stay in like he usually would, but left the sanctuary of their apartment to try and punch his restlessness out against a boxing bag. But, of course, it didn’t work.

He knows why he’s restless. Why doing the breathing exercises Sam taught him, and drinking the tea Bruce recommend he drink isn’t helping to calm his body. It’s because they went on a mission yesterday, they went on a mission and Bucky almost choked when pulling the trigger of his rifle to take out a target.

Not that anyone noticed, no. The target was still taken out, nobody important got hurt, the mission ended seamlessly, and there was no fatalities. Unless they counted his choke, the odd feeling he had in his chest the rest of the night, and the fact that he woke up sweating from a nightmare for the first time in a week. 

Bucky knows both why he’s restless and what he needs for this to stop. He just needs to ask first.

* * *

* * *

He and Steve are both on the couch. Steve’s on one side, his feet up on the coffee table, glasses Bucky swears Steve does not need to wear slipping down his nose, and the file from the mission they went on yesterday open in his lap. Bucky’s stretched out on the other side, trying to get through at least one chapter of _The Man in the High Castle_ and failing terribly. 

He shifts himself on the couch, bringing one leg up off the floor to the cushion before his leg starts to tingle and he has to set it back down. Bucky shifts himself again, this time putting his back against the arm and stretching over it, his arms up in the air along with the book, he gets through maybe three paragraphs before he sits up again. With a rough sigh he tries to mirror Steve’s position, feet up on the coffee table, and the book in his lap, but again, like all the other positions Bucky put himself in, it’s not comfortable. Bucky sighs again and closes the book, he pulls his feet off the coffee table and tosses the book on the table in his feet’s place. 

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asks, sounding distracted, his eyes still on the mission report.

Bucky eyes Steve, he knows what will make him feel better, but Steve’s busy, and he doesn’t want to bother him, “‘m fine, Stevie, just restless is all.” He leans back into the couch and crosses his arms over his chest, closing his eyes as if darkness will make everything better.

“You sure?”

Bucky nods, he can hear Steve leafing through the report, and really isn’t not like he’s in a dire state of mind that _needs_ Steve to take care of him, he’d just like it. It would loosen up the bar that’s been around his chest since he almost didn’t pull the trigger yesterday, it would make him feel more like himself, make him feel better and like he actually matters, but he can live without Steve’s gentle words and touches, he can.

Steve sighs, but it’s not exasperated to Bucky’s ear, “You know I don’t like you lyin’ to me, Buck, you sure you’re okay?”

Bucky keeps his eyes closed and bites his lip. He doesn’t want to lie to Steve, he never has and he doesn’t want to start today. But he also doesn’t want to feel like a burden to Steve, or make Steve stop working on his mission report just because Bucky’s feeling kinda’ shitty about himself. Then again, that is why they started _that_ part of their relationship, because sometimes Bucky doesn’t want to have to make choices for himself every part of the day and sometimes Steve just wants to take care of him.

“Honestly?” Bucky says, opening his eyes to turn and look at Steve on the couch, his arms still crossed over his chest.

Steve takes off his reading glasses and rests them on his lap with the report, he mirror’s Bucky’s position and gives him a small smile, “Honestly,”

Bucky licks his lips, still looking at Steve, “I need it, Stevie, need it real bad today.”

Steve frowns, not quick on the uptake as to what exactly Bucky needs, “Tell me what you need, medicine? Are you hurt, I could tell you weren’t feeling well after the mission yesterday, tell me Buck.”

Bucky suppresses a sigh at Steve’s obliviousness, “I need _it_ ,” he touches his bare throat after he says ‘it’, still a little too embarrassed to say that he needs Steve to pet him, and treat him like he’s the best thing since sliced bread, to be a fucking gentle dom with him.

“Oh!” Steve says, finally getting it, his eyes following where Bucky has his fingers on his throat. Once Steve realizes what Bucky needs it’s like his whole persona shifts, he still has that fond-softness in his eyes but now his feet are placed firmly on the carpet, his back is straight, and there’s an air to him that makes Bucky want to go to his knees, “Go choose your collar,” Steve says nodding to Bucky’s fingers, “then come back wearing that and your lounge pants- you know which ones.”

Bucky nods and slides off the couch to his feet, a little bit surprised at the quick shift from Steve to _Sir_ , “Yes, Sir.”

Steve slips his glasses back on and turns back to the report, ”Make sure and chose the collar you want, don’t think about me right now.”

Bucky nods again, turning on his heel to quickly walk to their room.

Once inside their room he makes his way to the closet, flicking on the light and going to the very back where a simple, white, dresser they got from Ikea sits. To any random person it looks just like a dresser, but to him and Steve it holds their playthings for scenes or whenever one of them needs it like today. He ignores the bottom two drawers for the first one and quickly opens it. Inside rests two medium sized, black boxes- like the dressers they’re innocuous to an unknowing eye. One of the boxes is a black velvet, whereas the other is a pebbled leather, today he reaches for the black velvet box.

They started this whole thing a few months after they got back together, which was a close to a year after the Potomac and Bucky’s revenge marathon. At first it was just Bucky wanting gentle touches, he wanted a closeness with Steve that surpassed what their normal-everyday-relationship called for. Bucky didn’t want sex, he didn’t know why he didn’t- and still doesn’t- crave sex like he used to, back then, but he didn’t. It’s not that he minds it, because he doesn’t, he’s cool with getting on his back or on his knees for Steve. He just doesn’t need or crave it. Natasha told him he was a sex positive asexual, but he doesn’t care what label he is, as long as he and Steve get what they need from each other he’s cool. What he found out he needs, before they started playing, was to be touched by Steve.

But it wasn’t enough.

After a particularly rough mission- a splinter HYDRA group, taunting from goons, goons trying to reset him with words that don’t work anymore- he needed more than touching and petting. What he needed was for Steve to take care of him in more ways than one, he needed Steve to make decisions for him, he needed Steve to be his mind for awhile. And Steve, selfless, loving _Steve_ , did just that. It was the blind leading the blind but Steve took control, make him feel good and real, made him whole when he was breaking apart.

At first, after that first night when they actually sat down and talked about what exactly happened, Steve was a little unsure about the whole thing. Steve thought he was taking away Bucky’s freedom, using him like a _thing_ , stooping down to the level of those HYDRA fucks. But then, after a lot of explaining from Bucky, he understood. Bucky explained that he wasn’t giving up his freedom, he wasn’t doing anything he didn’t want to do, but that he was letting Steve take the wheel for a little while. That after long days filled with decisions and thinking he sometimes needed Steve to decide for him, to take care of him, to let him relax for a little while and let go. That this relationship’s about trust, and Bucky trusts Steve with that power more than he trusts himself.

And then the collars came in.

Never in Bucky’s life did he think he’d be one of those kinky people he heard some of his pals talking about down at the docks, but now he’s here, in the twenty first century with two high quality collars that signify two different things. 

The collar in the pebbled, leather box is a simple black, leather thing with a silver D ring on the front. It’s lined with soft sheepskin and the leather itself is buttery smooth. If he were to slip that collar on and go back to Steve, it would mean that he wants something a little rougher, a little more on the sexual side of things while not being penetrative. It would mean that he doesn’t want to waste time on petting and praise and just wants to be completely taken by Steve. But that’s not what he wants today.

What Bucky wants today, after that mission yesterday, is to be taken care of. So, he chooses the velvet box. The collar inside this box, much like the other, is black leather lined with sheepskin, but instead of having a D ring on the front, it has a silver bell. The bell isn’t too big, it’s about the size of a large grape, but makes the best little ringing sound- soft and dainty, almost gentle.

Bucky opens the box and runs a finger over the collar, a stupid, excited smile already on his face. He pulls the collar out of the box, the bell chiming with each move- enough where Steve can probably hear it in the living room- and closes the box. He sets the box carefully back in the drawer and leaves the collar on top of the dresser while he goes searching for his lounge pants. 

They haven’t played in a few weeks- Bucky hasn’t need it, and he’s cool with giving Steve hand or suck jobs when Steve needs them- so the pants aren’t too hard to find. They’re hanging with the rest of his nice slacks, which threw Sam for a loop when he went snooping in their closet once. The silky, baby-pink fabric shines in the closet light, drawing him in. He carefully pulls the pants off their hanger, rubbing the fabric between his fingers, before setting them on top of the dresser with his collar. 

Quickly, he strips the rest of his clothes off, leaving his briefs on because this isn’t one of the Other Collar’s Nights, and slips the pants on. The silk feels nice against his legs, very different from the Hanes brand sweats he was wearing earlier. These are luxurious, they make Bucky feel special, feel wanted and needed. And isn’t that crazy? That even the sight and feel of silky pants and a collar can start the shift of his mood from restless to calm?

Taking a deep breath, he grabs the collar and leaves the closet, flicking the light off as he goes. His bare feet are sticking to the hardwood floors, the collar is jingling, the silky pants are brushing against his legs, and he feels so at peace he might be a quarter of the way to subspace. 

Steve looks up at him when he walks into the living room, glasses still on his nose, mission report in his lap, his feet are firm on the floor, knees spread wide enough for Bucky to fit in between.

He nods to the collar Bucky has gripped in his hands, “Want me to put on your collar?” Steve asks, his voice strong but gentle. 

Bucky nods, stopping in front of Steve, between his open legs, “Please, Sir.”

Steve puts his pen down and opens his hand for the collar, “Kneel,”

Bucky hands him the collar, the bell ringing softly, and drops to his knees. With the lounge pants on the wooden floors don’t hurt his knees too much, just enough to feel it if he’s here for long enough. Even supersoldiers can’t kneel on wooden floors for too long without feeling _something_.

Steve taps the side of his neck gently with two fingers and Bucky, knowing Steve for long enough, doing this long enough, knows to tilt his head to the side. Steve makes quick work with the collar, no fumbling like the first time they did this, but sticks a finger under the collar anyway.

“Not too tight?”

Bucky breathes in, feeling the collar and Steve’s finger push into his neck, and shakes his head, “No, Sir.”

“Good,” Steve nods, slipping his finger out of the collar to comb through Bucky’s hair, “thank you for telling me.”

Bucky pushes into the hand, his back straight, hands resting on his thighs and hums. He loves being touched by Steve, whether it’s a pat on the back after a good spar or a petting on days like these. Any touch from Steve is a good touch, and that’ll never change.

Steve removes the hand from Bucky’s hair and Bucky wants to whine, wants to pull the hand back into his hair and demand he be petted, but he wants to be good for Steve, he’s _going_ to be good for Steve. 

“You’re going to kneel there until I’m done with this report, okay?”

“Yes, Sir.” Bucky says, closing his eyes and settling into the wooden floor.

Steve taps his cheek, making him open his eyes, “Is the floor too hard for your knees, do you need a pillow?”

Bucky shakes his head and shifts on the floor, “No, Sir.” He wants to feel it somewhere today, and since he’s not up for spanking or anything of that nature, his knees it is. 

“Alright,” Steve says, picking up his pen and going back to the report, “tell me if anything changes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bucky closes his eyes again, settling into the floor as Steve goes back to his report. 

The apartment’s silent, other than a few notable sounds. There’s the sound of the central heating, just there, keeping them warm in New York winter. There’s the sound of Steve’s pen against the report’s paper, a soft _scritch scritch scritch_ coming from in front of Bucky. There’s the steady sound of Steve breathing, deep inhales and exhales that Bucky attempts to follow. There’s Bucky’s own slow breathing, hardly audible, mingling with the rest of the soft noise coming Steve and the apartment.

Bucky’s lost in his own half-there-half-not-there-thoughts about the wooden floor against his knees and the little sounds coming from around him that he doesn’t notice Steve running a hand in his hair until Steve tugs a little. Bucky opens his eyes and looks up at Steve. 

Steve’s glasses are off his nose and set to the side along with the mission report, presumably complete.

“Color?” Steve asks, his voice soft and hushed. 

Bucky pushes his head into Steve’s hand and hums, “Green.” The color chart- red, yellow, green- is surprisingly effective when Bucky’s in slightly woozy almost-there-subspace.

Steve nods, bringing his hand down Bucky’s face, thumb running circles on his skin, “Are you hungry?”

In all honestly Bucky hasn’t thought about eating. Not since he had toast and coffee this morning, right before he tried everything to stop being restless, “I haven’t thought about eating, Sir.” he flicks his eyes to the window behind Steve, by the natural lighting in the room he can tell it’s somewhere past afternoon, heading into the evening.

“Would you like to eat?” Steve asks, rephrasing the question,

Bucky nods, he loves being fed by Steve, “Please, Sir.”

Steve smiles down at him, still rubbing his cheek, “Get up for me, baby.”

Bucky puts a hand on the couch between Steve’s open thighs and pushes himself up from the floor. He smiles at Steve when Steve’s hands come around his waist, helping him up while he’s on wobbly legs.

“Your knees sore?” Steve asks, concern dripping in his voice as he leans forward on the couch to wrap his hands around Bucky’s knees. 

“A little,” Bucky sighs, “but a good sore, Sir.” He doesn’t want Steve to confuse feeling good for bad and wanting to stop.

Steve rubs at his knees for a few seconds before patting his thighs, “Lemme get up, baby.”

Bucky nods and moves back, narrowly avoiding the coffee table, standing beside it as he watches Steve get up and stretch, his back popping in the process.

Steve holds a hand out, the other’s occupied with a throw pillow, “Let’s go to the kitchen,”

Bucky takes Steve’s hand, sighing as he’s finally able to touch Steve and not just be touched by Steve. They walk to the kitchen, both of their feet sticking to the wooden floors, the pace a little slower than it would usually be since Steve’s probably being considerate to his slightly sore knees. His collar jingles with each step he takes, livening the otherwise quiet apartment.

Steve places the throw pillow on the floor by their breakfast nook, he looks back up to Bucky and smiles, brushing wispy strands of hair back with his now free hand, “Color?”

“Green, Sir,” Bucky says quietly, he’s so calm he doesn’t even want to roll his eyes at Steve’s need to ask him his color when all they’ve done it sit, then walk to the kitchen. On other days, days when he want more pain than comfort he’d roll his eyes, spit out some defiances, try to rile Steve up so he could just get on with it. But today’s not one of those days, he’s content to give Steve his color whenever Steve asks, he’s content to just sit and watch Steve make them something to eat, he’s just content.

“Thank you for telling me,” Steve says, rubbing his cheek with his thumb, “now sit, please, while I make us food.”

Bucky nods and goes to sit on the pillow. Like before he’s kneeling, hands on his thighs, heels of his feet digging into his butt. Unlike before he has a nice, soft pillow under him, his knees taking a break from the wooden floors, and he’s much farther under than earlier. He watches Steve make food, his eyelids are slightly dropped but he can still see that’s Steve’s cutting something and already has two bowls ready. 

He closes his eyes for a few moments since he’s under no orders to keep them open and is already feeling the drowsy side of unordered-subspace. It’s a nice, calm, sensation flowing through his body. The sound of Steve chopping things and scraping the bits into bowls, his own breathing audible to his own ears in the silence. He can feel when the central heating turns on, the hairs on his arms rising to the warm air, his collar warming up around his neck. Underneath him he can feel the soft pillow beneath his knees, accompanying him on this trip, he can feel where his palms are sweating, slightly, on his thighs, and how soft the silk pants are on his skin. He can feel it all, and all of it feels nice. 

Bucky’s broken out of his sensory induced trance by the sound of Steve pulling out the chair next to him. He looks up at Steve, who sets the bowls in his hand down on the table before going back to the counter for two cups, one with a straw. Steve sets the cups down next to the bowls and settles himself in the chair next to Bucky. Steve’s knee rests closest to Bucky’s face, his warmth radiating off of him like he’s a space heater, and Bucky has to hold himself back from pressing his face into it. 

Steve looks down at him, a small and genuine smile on his face, “Color?”

“Green, Sir,” Bucky murmurs. He’s both overly excited about getting fed by Steve and sleepy from the calm air that has surrounded him. It’s an odd mix, one he doesn’t really know how to deal with, but he knows Steve will guide him. He trusts Steve to lead him somewhere that feels equally good as this or better. So, he’ll keep answering Steve’s question, he’ll keep following Steve’s orders, anything that gets him petted or fed, really.

“Thank you for telling me,” Steve says, his voice soft and kind. He brings a hand down and pushes it through Bucky’s hair, tugging softly before letting go, “would you like to be hand fed?”

Bucky nods, wanting to pull Steve’s hand back into this hair but refraining, hands in place on his thighs, “Please, Sir.”

Steve pulls one of the bowls closer to him and takes a piece a fruit out, he lowers his hand to Bucky’s lips and nods. Bucky, following the silent order, takes the piece a fruit- a grape- into his mouth and chews slowly while Steve takes a few bites of fruit for himself. 

They follow that same pattern. Steve bringing a piece of fruit- so far it’s been grapes, cantaloupe, melon, apple, and strawberries- to his lips with a little nod, Bucky’ll take the fruit from Steve’s fingers, sucking slightly on Steve’s skin but not too much since he’s not interested in anything sexual tonight, then Steve’ll go back to his own bowl. When Steve’s eating his own fruit he’ll card his free hand through Bucky’s hair, and Bucky honestly does not care if that’s the hand with fruit juices because Steve’s touching him and there’s nothing more he could want than that. In between taking bites of fruit from Steve’s fingers and being pet, Steve’ll bring the glass of water with a straw to his lips and make him sip the water, slowly, in no rush, how ever much Bucky wants or doesn’t want. 

It’s a nice balance, the give and take between them. Steve orders him, he does, but most of the time his orders are optional when Bucky has this particular collar on. Steve’s orders will start with _do you want to_ or _will you_ , they give Bucky the option to say no. Like with the water. Steve doesn’t force water down his throat, he doesn’t let him choke on the water, and he doesn’t leave him thirsty and wanting more. This scene isn’t about that. It’s about Bucky letting Steve take care of him, and trusting himself to Steve. It’s about the straw in the cup and the endless amount of water Bucky’s allowed to have, give and take, taking care and taken care of.

Soon enough the fruit runs out and Bucky’s sipped about half the glass of water. He knows this wasn’t their actual dinner, and that he’ll be hungry later- Steve’ll be hungrier faster since he seems to run warmer than him- but right now he’s content. He’s in that dreamy, almost flying, state of subspace. He’s so close to being tipped over to the flying part and he knows that Steve knows it too.

Steve cups his face with both his hands, fingers slightly sticky but his hands warm none the less. He drags his eyes up to meet Steve’s and Steve smiles, “Do you want more, baby, yes or no?”

Bucky shakes his head slowly, “No, Sir.”

“Can you get up?”

Bucky looks down to his thighs. He honestly hasn’t thought about getting up and his legs are slightly numb with tingles. He could get up, yes, but that doesn’t mean to say he won’t fall over and hurt himself. So, he looks up and shakes his head.

Steve nods once before getting up from his seat, he pushes it into the table, and lowers himself to a squat in front of Bucky, “I’m gonna’ pick you up, okay?”

Bucky nods, already placing his arms around Steve’s neck. Steve lifts him seamlessly, and sometimes Bucky forgets that along with Steve’s body he has the strength to pick a man almost his weight like he’s picking up a pocket dictionary. Bucky wraps his legs around Steve’s torso and Steve places one arm under his legs and the other around his back. The walk to their bedroom isn’t long at all but with each step the bell on his collar rings out into the quiet apartment, it’s music to Bucky’s ears but it still makes him blush slightly- the meaning of the collar, what they do with the collar on, how good Bucky feels with the collar on. He hides his face in Steve’s neck, breathing in the scent of laundered clothes and mint shampoo as they make their way through the bedroom door. Steve softly sets Bucky down on the bed and Bucky untangles himself. He lays back on the bed, stretches the numbness out of his legs and sighs when Steve rolls off him to the other side of the bed.

Steve pats his chest, “Come here?”

Bucky crawls the short distance between the gap of empty bed and Steve, the bell on his collar ringing softly as he moves, and settles himself on Steve’s chest, metal arm resting over Steve’s heart. He lets out a happy sigh when Steve brings his arms around him and hold him close. 

“You were very good today,” Steve praises, running a hand through his hair again, “good for me.”

Bucky nods, bell ringing, “Yes, Sir, always good for you.” He knows his voice is probably too quiet and slurred but he doesn’t care. He feels good right now and that’s all that matters.

“Yes,” Steve agrees, he plays with the back of the collar, where the buckle’s secured, “you’re always good for me, couldn’t ask for anyone better, wouldn’t ask for anyone better..”

He can hear Steve still talking but it’s fading. His eyes are drooping close, his body finally feeling heavy and at rest. The lack of sleep from the night before and the rigorous workout finally catching up with him, helping him tip over and fall completely into subspace. The hand now back in his hair is putting him to sleep, and Steve’s praises are making him feel warm all over, the last thing he hears is a soft _go to sleep, baby_ before he drifts off.

* * *

When Bucky comes to Steve’s still holding him against his chest, and playing with his hair. But this time they’re both wrapped up in their comforter and Bucky can see a tall glass of orange juice on the bedside table.

He moves his head up to look at Steve, his collar’s still on but the scene’s basically over, “Time ‘sit?”

“Close to eight,” Steve answers, a dumb smile on his face, he pats the top of Bucky’s head, “your hair looks like a nest.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and lays back down, still slightly fatigued, “You were the one playin’ with it, so it’s your fault.”

Steve chuckles, shaking Bucky and his bell, but he puts his hand back in Bucky’s hair, “You feelin’ okay?”

Bucky nods, “A little bit thirsty but much better than earlier,” he rubs his face into Steve’s shirt and whispers, “thank you, Stevie.”

“No, problem, you know I love doing this as much as you do,” he rubs his fingers along the collar, “want this off?”

Bucky shakes his head, “Not yet, leave it on for a bit longer?”

Steve nods, “You should drink something soon.”

Bucky nods, he knows, he may not be in subspace anymore but there’s still a possibility of a crash, and he _is_ thirsty. But right now he wants to lay with Steve, with his collar on. He wants to lay and be fully aware of his surroundings, he wants to feel the calmness that’s seeped into his veins throughout the scene. But most of all, he wants to feel Steve. The way Steve’s fingers card softly through his hair, like not pulling out a strand on accident is the most important thing in the world. He wants to feel the rise and fall of Steve’s chest underneath his own. He wants to feel Steve’s warmth mingling with his under the covers. He wants to hear the sound of Steve’s strong heart when he moves his ear to rest against Steve’s sternum. 

He loves everything that is Steve and he always feels his love for Steve amplified in this sleepy, almost hazy, moments when subspace is dripping away from his bones and turns into the clarity of reality. He loves Steve and trusts Steve. So, he lays here, on his head over Steve’s heart, and listens to his heartbeat and feels his warmth replace the subspace in his bones.

Bucky loves Steve, he loves subbing for Steve, and nothing can replace that feeling. Nothing can make Bucky feel as good as Steve does, and he doesn’t want anyone to. So he’ll stay laying here, for as long as he can, because he knows Steve won’t move him if he doesn’t want to be moved. He knows Steve’ll keep petting him until Bucky moves away. He knows he needs to tell Steve why he needed it so badly today, but that can come later. Everything can come later because they’re both warm and content, and that’s all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the fic please reblog [this post!](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/post/135340178415/metaphorical-gin-and-juice-by-earthseraph-for)
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